


Deliver Us To Evil

by therobotjane



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Doppelcest, Doppelganger, M/M, evil twin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therobotjane/pseuds/therobotjane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during the Season 4 episode "Deliverance." Duncan finally purges the evil of the Dark Quickening from his body and has to face his evil double in the cave of the holy spring. His Shadow has different plans for their encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliver Us To Evil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asrundream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asrundream/gifts).



The air was brutally cold in the underground cavern that Methos had led him to. Duncan’s breath left his mouth in soft, white puffs of vapor. The sound of water dripping echoed through the place, rebounding off the worn, man-made walls. A magic fountain was down here, Methos had said, one with holy powers. Duncan wasn’t sure he believed his friend, but the evil inside him would only grow stronger with time, until it was completely unstoppable. He had no pretensions about the fact that in his hands, this evil would lay low hundreds of innocents. And no one would be able to prevent it.

Thin sunlight shone down the shaft that Duncan had descended. This place had been lost for hundreds of years, living on only in the ancient mind of the oldest living immortal, who happened to be peering down the hole at Duncan. Methos gave a reassuring smile and a small wave before backing away, disappearing from Duncan’s field of view. 

Rage, pure and hot, boiled up inside of Duncan’s chest. It felt good, filling him, burning away all of the pain of loss that he carried with him. So many friends, lovers, family, all dead throughout the years. But the hatred and anger inside him filled those gaping holes, gave him purpose again. The kind, reasonable part of his heart fought back against this tide, reminding him of who he was. His hand clenched around his family sword, the claymore that Methos had returned to him to help fight the demons. 

Every step toward the spring was a struggle. Duncan’s feet scraped through the small rocks and debris that littered the stone flagging underfoot. His legs felt like lead while the evil inside him screaming and roared, demanding that he stop. A soft light emanated from the end of the tunnel, green and reassuring. He focused on that, on the light, trying not to think about how hard it would be to step into that cleansing water. 

Finally his feet reached the edge of the water. Years had turned what was once a fountain into little more than a pool. The water itself was milky, clouded. The strange, peaceful green light seemed to come from the liquid itself, bathing the walls and ceiling of the chamber with its ghostly glow. A tremor shook Duncan’s body, his resolve failing as the evil inside him fought for its very life. Whether or not the spring was actually magical was irrelevant; if Duncan could take that last step, he was declaring himself against the evil of the Dark Quickening.

A sheen of sweat broke out on his skin, prickling into being despite the frigid air. His breath was ragged, gasping in and out as if he’d just run a marathon. Stabbing pains drove into his head until the soft glow of the spring was painful to look at. With shaking arms, he tried to lift the claymore, the sword of his heart. It seemed to weigh thousands of pounds, or perhaps that was the weight of the darkness inside him. Groaning, trembling with effort, Duncan dragged the sword toward the water, its point shrieking against the stones. Shaking, slowly, slowly, the tip of the sword touched the surface of the water. 

The light inside the water intensified, growing painfully bright. Duncan shut his eyes against it but did not waver. He could feel the evil inside him fighting back, but he could also feel the cleansing power of the fountain flowing up the sword of his fathers, strengthening him for the battle to come. His trembling feet crept toward the water. With a rush, he was immersed. Momentarily confused about how he got there, Duncan opened his eyes under the milky water, pushing his head toward the surface. As he drew air into his lungs, he realized that this was the first time he’d breathed freely since he had taken Kol’Tek’s head. A smile tugged at his mouth even as tears ran down his face. He was free.

A low chuckle echoed down the tunnel at Duncan’s back. He turned in the water, alarmed, knowing that wasn’t the sound of Methos’ gentle laughter. Standing in the archway, illuminated by the ghostly glow of the spring, stood...Duncan? Duncan, but different in a hundred subtle ways. It shocked him, the real Duncan, that his friends hadn’t seen the monster inside him for what it was. His hair was most severely tamed in its ponytail, he wore a gold ring in his earlobe, his mouth was twisted with cruelty. Even his stance was arrogant and vaguely dominant in a way that Duncan’s never was. Duncan felt sick, looking at this shadow of himself, realizing that his body held the ability to be...that.

The Evil Duncan, the Shadow of the Dark Quickening, moved toward the wary form of Duncan with an unmistakable swagger. The katana that Duncan had left with Methos back on the surface swung with lazy confidence in the Shadow’s hand. The Shadow’s cruel mouth spread into a wide grin. He pounced, with animal grace and inevitability, sword raised to kill.

Duncan got his claymore up in time to block the katana’s path. The two men traded blows, swords clanging in the dimly lit tunnel. Duncan backed off, catching his breath. He had no idea how he was meant to defeat this creature; it possessed all of his skill, all of his determination, but it also had a certain bloodthirsty drive that didn’t live in Duncan’s heart. Shadow paced back and forth in front of him in a wide half-circle, like a wolf gauging the threat of a cornered rabbit. Watching his evil counterpart stalk him, Duncan was horrified to feel his body responding.

That low, rumbling chuckle escaped Shadow’s throat again, accompanied by a devilish smirk. “Oh Duncan, you naughty, naughty boy,” he said, his voice a deeper pitch than Duncan’s, but with the same heady European accent. The sound sent a shiver down Duncan’s spine. “I can’t say I blame you. We are gorgeous, after all.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Duncan snarled, leaping back into battle. His claymore swept down in a broad arc, aimed directly for the neck of his evil counterpart. The katana swept up to bat the blade away with a dismissive gesture. 

“Duncan, if you actually want to destroy me, you’ll have to do better than that,” said Shadow. He met Duncan’s eyes from under lowered lashes, his dark eyes deep and liquid. “But perhaps killing me isn’t what you desire.”

Disgusted with his evil double, and with himself, Duncan backed off again. Breath ragged in his throat, adrenaline pumping through his veins, he tried to calm himself. With the breathing techniques taught to him by hundreds of years of martial training, he brought his body back under control. He could do nothing about the throbbing ache in his groin, however. The dripping water sounded loud in the silence, somehow adding to the tension.

Shadow rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.” He moved closer to Duncan, his katana lowered at his side, ready but not actively attacking. His muscles flowed and bunched under his tight black clothes, giving him the appearance of a panther. He stopped a bare arm length away from Duncan. Shadow inhaled deeply, as if he was trying to catch Duncan’s scent. His left hand raised to Duncan’s cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw. “If you want to fuck, just say so.” 

Duncan grabbed Shadow’s wrist with his left hand, both of the men keeping their swords tightly held in their right. Shadow refused to be moved, meeting Duncan’s resistance with nothing but a sly grin. 

“Do you know what I think, Duncan?” Shadow murmured, moving a step closer. “I think that the highlander doth protest too much.” He laughed, clearly amused with himself. He leaned in, his hand moving to the back of Duncan’s neck. With a practiced twist of his fingers, one born of centuries of practice, Shadow released Duncan’s hair from its leather tie. The long, dark waves of hair, freed from their confinement, tumbled around Duncan’s face. 

Duncan found that his body was trembling, whether from desire or disgust, he was unsure. The scent coming off of this dark, mirror image of himself was intoxicating. It was so close to his own aroma, but spicier somehow, like amber and cinnamon. Shadow’s face was so near to his own that he could see the individual hairs on his double’s unshaven jaw, each of his sooty eyelashes. Somehow Duncan had never noticed, looking in his own mirror, the sinful curve of his lips or the liquid darkness of his eyes.

A loud clang echoed through the tunnel. Shadow had let his sword fall to the ground, confident that he wouldn’t be attacked. That if he was, he possessed the dark strength to overcome Duncan. Their lips touched, the briefest feather-light brushing. Duncan’s fingers loosened on the hilt of his claymore for a moment, then tightened with resolve. He jerked his head away from Shadow, his face hardened into a scowl. 

“Stop this!” demanded Duncan, but he did not step away.

Shadow chuckled, his body still mere inches from Duncan’s. “Come now, Duncan. You know you cannot best me in battle. I am you. I know everything you know.” His smoldering eyes met Duncan’s. “And so much more.”

The wild and depraved things that this creature had known, had experienced before it became a part of Duncan through the Dark Quickening teased momentarily at Duncan’s imagination. 

In one swift motion, Shadow used his body to push Duncan back against the wall, pounding his now free fist against the stone above Duncan’s shoulder. Shadow stared deep into Duncan’s eyes, a look of fury and cold lust warring on his face. With a soft growl, he twisted his mouth into a sinister smile. “We can fight, if you want.” Shadow pressed his thigh between Duncan’s legs. “But I don’t think that’s what you want.”

Shadow’s left hand slid up Duncan’s shirt, playing across his hard stomach, while his right remained on the wall, keeping Duncan from bolting. A small sound escaped Duncan’s lips, the slightest sigh. His fingers loosened on the grip of the claymore and he leaned it gently against the wall, unwilling to let the blade of his clan clatter to the stone flagging at his feet. He shook his head. “This is wrong,” he murmured.

“Who wants to be right?” Shadow breathed against Duncan’s neck, tickling the sensitive skin there. A shiver chased down Duncan’s spine. He could no longer ignore the heat coming off of his dark counterpart’s body, or the muscular thigh still pressed against his throbbing erection. It felt good and, by god, he longed to feel good again. He gave in, letting his own hands rush up Shadow’s back, pulling his body closer. 

A low growl, almost a purr, came from Shadow’s throat. A smirk curved his cruel mouth, a look of pure dominance and satisfaction. His lips pressed against Duncan’s neck, roughly, pushing his head back against the wall. He had won.

“Duncan,” said Shadow, his voice low but completely in control. 

Duncan gasped as Shadow nipped at his throat, his straight, sharp teeth delightfully painful. “What?”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t enjoy me being inside you,” said Shadow. He moved his hand to Duncan’s belt, fumbling one-handed with the buckle. “You brought us all the way here to get rid of me. Why didn’t you like me, Duncan? I felt so good, inside you.” His hand slid into the front of Duncan’s opened trousers, wrapping around the hardness contained therein. Duncan gave a desperate sort of moan.

“It did...feel good,” said Duncan. So did Shadow’s hand, wrapped around the shaft of his cock. It had been so long. “But it was wrong. It wasn’t me. I had to have myself back, you must understand that.”

Shadow grinned. “I do understand, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.” The slightest note of mocking crept into his voice as he said Duncan’s title. “So I thought you’d like revenge for my intrusion.” Shadow stepped away for the briefest moment, just long enough to tug his black turtleneck sweater off over his head. Then he was pressed against Duncan again, tugging Duncan’s shirt up so that their stomachs touched, skin against skin. 

Duncan’s hands pressed against his Shadow’s back, pulling him closer. It had been so long since he’d felt the heat of another body against his own. He’d lost so many people dear to him. He was so lonely. He reveled, for a moment, at the feeling of his double’s stomach hairs rubbing softly against his own, at the softness of this evil being’s lips on his neck, his collarbone. His breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean by ‘revenge’?”

Shadow slid out of his own trousers, revealing his lack of underwear with his sudden nudity. He kicked them dismissively away. His body pressed against Duncan’s in swift ferocity, his hands unbuttoning Duncan’s shirt and pushing the fabric out of the way, his lips trailing through the soft, black hair on Duncan’s chest, brushing against the dark nipples buried there. Duncan moaned loudly as Shadow’s hand closed around the shaft of his cock again, stroking slowly but with determination. He tilted his head back in pleasure only to snap it forward again as Shadow’s cock rubbed against his hip, leaving a damp, sticky trail in its wake.

“Revenge, Duncan, for my unwelcome intrusion.” Shadow moved his kisses back up to Duncan’s neck, propping both of his hands against the wall on either side of Duncan’s head. Their bodies lined up perfectly of course; they were physically identical. Shadow thrust his hips against Duncan’s, grinding their cocks together. “You hated it so much when I was inside you. Now you’re going to be inside me.” It was a command, a statement of fact, no question in his tone.

Quite of their own volition, Duncan’s hands raced down to Shadow’s ass, cupping the muscular, well-defined mounds. Shadow chuckled. “You naughty boy. That barely took any convincing at all.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Duncan muttered. His cock felt like it was going to burst, but only if his body didn’t burn up in the heat of this embrace first.

“Only if you shut me up,” said Shadow. His hand tangled in Duncan’s wild mane of hair, yanking painfully and forcing the other man’s mouth to his. Their lips met, then their tongues, tangled together in a desperate dance. Shadow pulled away, leaving Duncan pressed against the rough stone wall, cold and trembling. 

Duncan forced himself to breathe. His body was painfully tense with need. Glistening pearly drops adorned the head of his cock. Why was this creature having such an effect on him? Was he really that egotistical? Throughout his hundreds of years of life, he’d felt desire and need but nothing like this. This wasn’t need, this was starving. It was hunger that he felt as Shadow stepped into the holy spring, the pale greenish water lapping gently at his waist. 

His elbows propped at the edge of the pool, Shadow grinned up at Duncan. “Come along now, Duncan. Purge yourself in this sacred place.” The lewd twist of his lips and gentle mocking in his voice made it very clear to Duncan that Shadow wasn’t referring to the spring.

His painfully stiff cock bobbing with every step, Duncan approached the water’s edge, fearful and eager of what was to come. Shadow reached out when he came within an arm’s length, caressing Duncan’s calf and tugging gently on his ankle as he hesitated. When Duncan finally dipped his toes into the cloudy water, Shadow nearly purred, “There’s a good boy.”

Stripping off what remained of his clothing and lowering himself into the warm, milky water of the spring, Duncan reveled in the sensation of the warm liquid against his bare skin. There was a slight current coming from somewhere unseen that played through the curling hair that covered his torso. It was pleasant but did nothing to detract from the raging lust that was tearing through him, making his body ache with need. Shadow remained leaned forward, elbows propped on the pool’s edge, now smirking back over his shoulder. His back was a smooth, muscled curve leading down to his toned ass. The dark cleft there seemed to beckon Duncan forward.

Duncan reached out, grabbing Shadow’s hip with his left hand and his own cock with his right. “Go on, Duncan. Give in to your darkest desires,” Shadow nearly gloated, arching his back farther. Duncan couldn’t stand it anymore; he hated this creature with every fiber of his being and yet he needed this more than he’d ever needed anything. He pushed into that dark cleft, the hairs there brushing against the sensitive tip of his cock, and kept pushing until he was inside the tight, hot entrance there, until his manly sword was completely sheathed.

Shadow laughed, an arrogant chuckle that ended in a satisfied gasp. The muscles in his shoulders bunched, his fingers clenching on the edge of the pool. 

“Am I hurting you?” asked Duncan. His voice was low and gravelly with pleasure, but he forced the words out. Even to this creature, he wished no harm. 

“I didn’t expect you to feel this good, Duncan. You’ve done this before,” replied Shadow, his smirk audible in his voice. 

Duncan flushed red, unwilling to discuss his sexual history with this creature born of evil. His teeth ground together in embarrassment over trying to show compassion for such a being. His hands clamped onto the hips of the man in front of him, fingers digging into the muscled flesh. Shadow gave another satisfied chuckle as Duncan began to thrust, a slow, steady rhythm. He turned his eyes toward the crumbling ceiling overhead, cursing himself for what he was doing even as his thoughts grew hazy with pleasure. 

A slight movement from in front of him drew Duncan’s attention. Shadow was no longer laughing. In fact, he was hunched over the edge of the pool, his shoulders bunched and drawn with tension born of ecstasy, all of his weight on his right elbow. His left hand was between his legs, fist closed around the shaft of his cock, roughly stroking its length. He moaned in apparent enjoyment with each thrust, timing his movements to match Duncan’s.

“That’s it, Duncan. Harder. Show me how much you’re enjoying it,” gasped Shadow. His voice was thick with lust. Sweat sheened his back, falling in thick drops into the holy water. Strands of his hair, curly with the humidity and the heat of his flesh, clung to the tanned expanse like vines of ivy. 

Duncan shuddered. By God, his murderous double was beautiful. He felt ridiculous thinking that. His Shadow was identical to him in almost every way. But it was his raw passion, his unbridled arrogance that Duncan found so appealing. His thrusts became rough, desperate, and brutal. The slightest fraction of concern inched into his bliss-fogged mind only to be quickly dispelled by the sounds coming from behind the clenched white teeth of his doppelganger. Shadow was enjoying it. Duncan was doing exactly what his evil counterpart wanted. Bile raised in his throat when he realized this, that he wasn’t in control of the situation, he never had been.

Just then Shadow let out a low shout, his body tensing sharply as a spasm ran through him. The tautness of his body, the force of his orgasm squeezed Duncan’s cock tightly, almost painfully. Duncan’s body responded without his conscious thought, pushing deeply into Shadow’s ass. His eyes shut tightly as he came, his fluids filling the deep tunnels of his double’s body. Even as he pumped his hot load into Shadow’s ass, he dimly heard his double laughing. His face contorted with revulsion, Duncan opened his eyes to see...that he was alone. 

Duncan stood in the waist-deep water. The cloud of his semen slowly dispersed in the water, leaving it just as eerily green as it had been before he entered the pool. Confused, he looked around. The cavern was empty. Only one set of clothes lay on the rubble-strewn floor. The ancient sword of his fathers was the only one present. His brows knit in bewilderment and his cheeks began to burn with shame. 

“Duncan?” Methos’ concerned voice echoed through the cave. “You’ve been down there for a long time! Do you need a hand?”

Scrabbling out of the pool and lunging for his pants, he shouted, “No! No, I’m fine! Everything is fine! I definitely do not need a hand!”


End file.
